Are we better known for reading traditional words-on-paper books than comic books and graphic novels? Probably. But since our group’s founding we’ve always had some comics in the mix too, and our comics-loving members are passionate indeed on the subject. So it’s maybe a bit surprising that until now we’ve never taken the time to visit Comic Con.

Except for one thing — in New York, Comic Con comes in October, and October is usually too cold for outdoor toplessness. But not this year! This year it was 83 degrees on the con’s opening day, so several of us made our way to the lawn nearest to the convention center to get into our best cosplay gear.

The convention center itself has rules against toplessness, and we didn’t especially feel like fighting them (even though we would’ve been in the right), but there’s certainly nothing to stop a half dozen women dressed as superheroes, unicorns, anime characters, or some unholy combination of all three from leaving their tops off to better enjoy the breeze off the Hudson River.

One of our cosplayers drew her inspiration from Dark Phoenix…

…while others drew theirs from realms unknown.

(There was a brief moment when one of us was almost going to go for a topless rendition of Joy from Pixar’s Inside Out, but that somehow felt wrong and modifications were made.)

There is something doubly liberating about being half naked and half costumed — it’s twice the chance to show you’re not afraid or ashamed of who you are.

Now we’re wondering whether it’ll be this warm, still, when Halloween rolls around?

Maybe. Maybe. We’re thinking about what we might do. And if you think you might enjoy being part of it…? Drop us a note: toplesspulpfiction@gmail.com. All women are welcome, whether you’re already comfortable topless in the great outdoors or you’re nervous about your first time.

Remember: you can always wear a mask. 🙂

[NOTE: Special thanks to photographer Gary Jean-Juste for some of these terrific pictures!]

We’re always hunting for interesting, cool things to do around NYC, and when someone told us about Escape the Room we totally had to try it. Fortunately, they were happy to have us come by and play naked in their space.

What is Escape the Room? It’s this cool puzzle game where you and half a dozen other people (your friends or total strangers) get locked in a room full of puzzles, and you have to solve all the puzzles in order to find a key and get out of the room in less than 60 minutes.

We had enough people to fill two rooms, so half of us did a Victorian/Sherlock Holmes-themed room…

…while the other half did an espionage/James Bond-themed room. Here’s us as secret agents:

The Victorians managed to get out well before the hour wound down — not quite record time, but a good enough showing to land us on the Wall of Fame.

The secret agents got right down to the final puzzle…but in the end time ran out.

But it’s okay. Fun was had by all. And how often do you get to unlock secret doors and string mysterious clues together and race against the clock, all while hanging out naked with friends?

The punny titles just write themselves, don’t they? And while we bow to no one in our capacity for innuendo and juvenile humor, this time we’ll let it go.

What’s the story behind these rather unusual pictures? Simple. We heard that the downtown ad agency Pearlfisher had installed a giant ball pit in its reception area and invited members of the public to come and enjoy themselves in it. It’s meant as some sort of paean to childishness and playfulness and free-spiritedness, three things we like to like to think we embody. So we called them up and asked if perhaps they’d let us commandeer the space some afternoon and disport ourselves like the overgrown children we are. They said yes, and a subway ride later it was us and 80,000 white plastic balls in a battle royal.

The experience was exhilarating, though perhaps more physically taxing than we expected. (Ever sink beneath a truckload of plastic spheres and find yourself unable to get up again? Fortunately some of our members are in peak physical condition and could fish the rest of us out.)

No, we didn’t read any books in there; we didn’t even discuss any. But by god, we had fun. Hats off (bras, too) to the cool, supportive staffers who let us come and were super-nice to us while we were there. To the handful of ad execs in the back trying to get some actual work done while we frolicked noisily in their entrance after hours, our apologies. But tell the world it’s okay to come over and play with your balls, you’ve got to expect some people to take you up on it.

Ah, smutty puns, we can’t resist you after all!

Perhaps for our next outing we’ll have to go to the Jewelry District and try on some pearl necklaces.

For several years now, we’ve talked about visiting Manhattan’s Museum of Sex, but somehow it never happened, mostly because the folks who ran the place didn’t answer our tweets and emails. But a few weeks back we finally resorted to the old-fashioned approach and showed up in person to demonstrate how well-behaved and urbane we are. It must’ve worked, since they allowed us to come as a group to experience their FUNLAND exhibit, which puts a sexual spin on carnival attractions.

The thing kicks off with a caped barker ushering you into a hall of mirrors, a tricky, pitch-black area of dead ends and (consequently) fleshy collisions among participants.

Then on to a booth where you toss balls to make mechanical penises race across a field, then a climbing wall where the hand- and footholds are sculpted body parts.

But the centerpiece (and the reason we really wanted to come) is a bouncy castle made of giant inflated breasts. Points to the designers for diversity: the place has a variety of shades and colors. But it’s the size of the things that really impresses — you instantly feel dwarfed, returned to infancy or, to be more bookish about it, like Gulliver in Gulliver’s Travels, straddling the Brobdingnagian girls’ gargantuan nipples. (What, you don’t remember that scene from the cartoon version? It’s in the book, trust us.)

We also checked out an odd exhibit of gyrating mechanical puppets and one exploring the life of porn superstar Linda Lovelace (of Deep Throat fame, and sure enough you enter to a wall-sized projection of LL deep-throating some fortunate fellow).

Was it worth a visit? Oh, yes — it’s not every day that you get to bounce like a little kid again, or hang from a wall-mounted cock, or watch an act of fellatio blown (you’ll pardon the expression) up to King Kong proportions.

It ain’t the Metropolitan. But on a rain-swept autumn afternoon, there are worse ways to kill an afternoon. And a bouncy castle made of giant bare breasts has to be one place in the city where no one could possibly complain about our ordinary person-sized ones going uncovered.